


Siren’s Song, Wolf’s Howl

by kitkatkaylie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Dryad!Tyrells, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Euron Greyjoy is His Own Warning, F/F, It’s another WIP because I have no control, M/M, Masquerade Ball, Siren!Greyjoys, Werewolf!Starks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Everyone knows that Sirens and Werewolves are the greatest of enemies, so it seems unthinkable that a Siren could save a Werewolf... and yet it does, and it might just change the face of Westeros forever
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell, Satin Flowers/Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Siren’s Song, Wolf’s Howl

**Author's Note:**

> So some of this fic is going to look very similar to my contribution to the Now and Always Zine, that’s because this was going to originally be my contribution... until I realised I didn’t have enough time to do the plot the justice it deserved and so significantly changed it.

Robb cursed everyone and everything he knew as the winds picked up and the ship he was on listed dangerously in the water. Men scurried around the deck, and of it wasn’t for the ever burning scent of salt, Robb was sure he would be able to smell their fear as water rushed onto the deck from the higher waves.

The fucking sirens’ fault no doubt. The cowardly sea dwellers who preferred to drag men into the water to drown rather than meet them tooth to claw to sword the way that honourable beings did.

A sudden burst of gladness filled his chest at having had to leave Grey-Wind behind, his bonded wolf would have been miserable with the floor rolling beneath his paws. He was still a little bitter that he had been forbidden from bringing him in the first place, but at least he knew his wolf was happily being pampered by his sister. 

A large wave swept over the deck, carrying with it those few men unlucky enough to not have hold of rope. Robb growled at the sight, his wolf wanting to rise to the surface to avenge them, but it would be useless, the sea could no more be defeated than the air itself. No, he would have to wait to take his revenge, have to wait until he had the siren responsible before him before he could avenge those lost.

He was so caught up in thoughts of revenge and of placating his wolf that he lost track of his surroundings and so was caught off guard when the next giant wave crashed over the ship.

His feet were knocked from under him and the rope wrenched from his grip, and with a shout Robb was thrown into the depths of the ocean. 

He plunged under the water, the dark weight of it pushing down on him as the breath was knocked from his lungs. He thrashed around, desperately trying to find the surface to find air, but no sooner had his head broke the surface was he forced under again.

He started to panic. His lungs were screaming for air. His vision started to cloud.

And then, as though sent by the gods, arms wrapped around him. Strong arms, ones which had no trouble pulling him through the water and keeping his head above it.

After what felt like hours and yet somehow no time at all, he felt rock against his back. The small rough shale of a beach, and the solid feeling which told him he was on firm land again.

Slowly, carefully he blinked open his salt encrusted eyes to meet the gaze of his saviour. 

Sea green eyes looked down at him, framed beneath sandy curls. A strong nose above red lips. Beautiful and yet there was something… off about it.

A tail flicked into the corner of his vision, one with black and gold scales. A tail attached to his rescuer.

A siren. He had been saved by a siren.

Worse than that, if the colours of the siren’s tail were anything to go by, he had been saved by a Greyjoy.

* * *

Theon paced around his room, his hands running through his hair in frustration. He couldn’t believe he had been so stupid, he had been so caught up in the beauty of the man who had fallen in the water that he had not realised who he was. 

He had taken him all the way to the shore, the man delirious from the salt water he had consumed. It was not until he had laid the man upon the beach, not until the man’s eyes had opened, that he realised who he was.

Pure silver flashed as the man’s eyes opened, quick but unmistakable. The man was a werewolf. 

A Stark werewolf, for only they had the true silver eyes, other werewolves had a tinge of copper or blue to theirs. Or at least, that was what everyone said, it was rare to get close enough to view a werewolf’s eyes and live to tell the tale.

The werewolf he had saved had not seemed like a bloodthirsty beast though, there was no crazed look on his face, the type Rodrick and Maron had liked to scare him with when he was a fry. 

No, he was beautiful instead, with thick red hair that Theon just wanted to dig his fingers into, and bright blue eyes, the same shade of the summer sky. He wondered if his wolf form would have the same red tinge to his fur, or if it would be the pale silvery grey which the Starks were known for.

Theon would have no chance to see it though, not unless he was facing the wolf on the battlefield. 

He sighed again and tried to push the wolf he had saved out of his mind, it would do him no good to dwell upon things that could not be. 

* * *

Why, of all the people in Westeros, did Robb have to fall for a fucking siren? The sworn enemy of his family, a member of a species which had threatened to wipe out his own at least thrice in the past two years. 

If Jon found out he would probably break something from laughing so hard. Then again, Jon could hardly say anything when he was still pining over that dryad.

He stared out of his window, at the snow covered ground and sighed. His life would be so much easier if he could just forget the stunning sea green eyes of the siren, and yet he could not. They danced in front of his own even now, set beneath those glorious sandy curls, a vision of beauty that he would quite happily jump into the sea for.

(He supposed that was rather the point of the Siren’s looks, to make one wish to jump into the sea)

There was a sense of annoyance from his wolf at that thought, jumping in the sea meant he got soaked right down to the skin and it took forever to dry off. Well, forever unless he asked for help and asking for help would defeat his entire reason behind hiding his feelings for the siren as the help would inevitably come with  _ questions _ . 

His siblings were all nosy little shits who delighted in tormenting him. There was no way he would ask them for help unless the situation was dire. 

He was almost thankful though, when his sister opened his door without knocking, for at least it distracted him from thoughts of pale skin and sandy curls. 

“Mother said we are to attend the Tyrell party tomorrow evening.” Sansa stuck her head round his door, “Apparently people are saying you died when your ship came into port without you, and she thinks that you showing yourself at such a public event will put those rumours to rest.”

“And let me guess” Robb sighed, “Cersei Lannister is going to be there and mother doesn’t want to be tempted to rip her hair out again.”

Sansa laughed, “That might be part of it, yes. There’s no excuses though, the Tyrell portal will be opening at 6 and mother will be inspecting your attire before then.”

Hours of watching his brother pine over the pretty server of the Tyrells, hours of watching his sister effortlessly charm her way around the room until she had men panting after her like dogs in heat, hours of trying not to cause a scene when all he wanted was to lock Jon in a closet with the dryad and to tear the throats out of any man who thought to even look at Sansa. 

Robb could feel the headache he would be coming home with already. 

* * *

Theon was going to kill his sister. When he was done with her, Yara was going to be fit only as food for the kraken. 

(He wasn’t really, he wasn’t stupid enough to kill one of the few people in his family who actually liked him. Not least because she would kill him first if he even thought about it.)

He had been tricked by her into attending one of the many parties put on by the dryads and enchanters of the Reach, a necessary evil to ensure that they received the supplies they could not grow for themselves in their own watery lands. 

They were some of the most boring, and yet somehow most debauched parties in Westeros, with hedonism mixed with courtly manners and politics. He normally returned home from them completely drunk and unable to remember the magic which returned his tail to him. 

They were one of the few events in which a strict truce was kept in place between warring clans. Between the manticores of the Westerlands and the minotaurs of the Stormlands; and of course, between the sirens and werewolves. Anyone found to be breaking the truce was cursed by the head of the Tyrell Clan, an ancient enchantress with an affinity for curses and mind magics.

Olenna Tyrell was possibly one of the scariest people in Westeros, and Theon was saying that after having seen a sneezing fire drake who set fire to everything around them, causing huge amounts of damage completely by accident. 

Of course this truce was aided by the fact that everyone wore masks enchanted by the Tyrells which served to completely hide one’s identity. They were always beautiful things, made of filigree or velvet or silk, and were handed out based on which would go best with your outfit. 

“Lord Theon,” A pretty dryad sidled up to him, one Theon might have tried to pursue had he not known her true identity, one evident even with her enchanted mask for who else would wear a dress made out of rose petals? One who knew his name as well, for only the Tyrells could see through their enchantments, “It is a pleasure to see you here.”

“Lady Margaery,” Theon bowed over her hand, “The pleasure is all mine.”

She giggled and blushed a fetching shade of green, but Theon was not fooled. He knew she played up the innocent act, just as he played up his own roguish act.

“I was wondering, perhaps, my lady, whether you would be able to tell me which of the Stark Clan are attending this eve, only I should like to know whether it is best for everyone if I avoid them entirely.” Theon winked at her, a charming gesture they both knew to be false.

“Well,” Lady Margaery fluttered her eyelashes, “I think you will be pleased to hear it is none of the elder Starks, instead it is the elder of the younger generation, Lord Robb, Lady Sansa, and Lord Jon.”

_ Fucking shit stained minotaur balls.  _

They were exactly the wolves Theon was hoping would not be there. He knew he had saved one of the younger Starks, and he could only dread what his family would do if they found out, as was sure if the wolf made a scene.

He didn’t know which of the wolves it was that he had saved, the only name he recognised was Lady Sansa, and that was only because there had been a scandal between her and one of the grandchildren of the Head Manticore. 

It had been an event which had made Yara laugh when she heard the details, one which had actually caused her to give praise to a wolf. Then again, she had always enjoyed hearing of vengeance; and the tale of Lady Sansa biting off two of the manticore’s fingers after he had slapped her and tried to have her pet wolf killed was certainly one of those.

“Thank you, my lady.” Theon said instead of the curses that wished to escape, “You are as kind as they say.”

Lady Margaery smiled at him, a smile that concealed the sharp teeth and venomous tongue he knew lay behind her delicate facade. “I should love to remain and converse with such a handsome lord some more, but my grandmother will disapprove of me focusing my attentions on only one guest. I shall speak to you later, Lord Theon.”

Theon bowed and kissed her hand, “I am counting the minutes, Lady Margaery.”

She swanned off, her sway and the glamour of magic surrounding her drawing all eyes to her figure, including Theon noticed with some horror, a familiar pair of blue eyes set in a familiar face.

He was screwed if Robb or Jon Stark recognised him. (And really he needed to work out which one he had saved, it would be far easier to avoid him if he knew the wolf’s name.)

“Ah, Greyjoy.” A portly man approached him with a sort of rude familiarity, “Is your uncle not coming this eve?”

Ahh fuck. He hated those who few people who were not the Tyrells and yet could see through their enchantments, Lord Varys, for surely no one else would wear violet robes bedecked with indigo spiders and cut in an Essosi style, was one of them and he was tricky to work with at the best of times. 

The lord looking for Theon’s uncle was certainly not the best of times.

“Apologies, my lord, but my uncle has not been home for near two moons.” Theon knew he did not sound truly apologetic, but he could not bring himself to care. 

“A shame. I have the book he wanted, the one he wanted on the different races in Westeros. He seemed especially interested in the chapters detail the peoples of the Reach.”

Nothing good would ever come of Euron knowing more about the sorcerers and dryads of the Reach, nothing good at all. 

“I shall pass on your message should I be the next to see him. Although with the way Euron travels, it might very well be you who sees him next.”

“As you say.” Lord Varys bowed, “I thank you for your time, Lord Greyjoy.”

Theon nodded his head in response, he did not care over much if he upset the Spider. For as long as he was useful in some way to the man he would be safe.

He scanned the dance floor instead, looking for a partner to take out. The dancing and the food were the best part of these events, and he would not deny himself the only bearable parts of the evening. 

A stranger caught his eye, one with broad shoulders contained under grey and black satin. Shoulders that made Theon’s mouth go dry. 

The stranger approached him with a smile upon his face, one so beautiful that Theon felt his heart skip a beat.

Red hair curled around the edges of the man’s mask, hair that could be natural or could be an affectation of the magic of the masks, there really was no way to know. 

As for the mask itself? Well, it fit the man perfectly, it’s silver silk surface delicately embroidered with indigo vines and black snowflakes. Theon could not help but stare at the way it was moulded to cheekbones, the way it accentuated his full lips.

“May I have this dance?” The stranger asked in a smooth voice.

“You may.” Theon took the offered hand, proud of himself for not shaking at the feel of calloused skin beneath his own.

Whoever the stranger was, he would be pleased to get to know them better. 

* * *

Robb knew he would get an earful from Jon later for abandoning him to go and dance, but he found he could not pass up the opportunity to dance with the man in the golden mask. 

He had always had his eye drawn to those who cut an elegant silhouette and the man certainly had one of those, what with the almost dramatic cut of his doublet and the elaborate glass beading along its hems, beading mirrored on his mask.

When the man took his hand he was surprised by the feel of archer’s callouses along those slender fingers. The man did not look like he had the strength to pull a bow for his height at first glance, and yet upon closer inspection he did have muscle hidden beneath the watered silk of his clothes. 

He was a graceful dancer, and Robb knew they likely made a striking pair upon the floor. He did not like the smirk on Sansa’s face when he caught sight of her twirling in her dryad’s arms, but he found he was enjoying the dance too much to be annoyed with his little sister. 

“So are you going to speak to me?” The stranger said in a light teasing tone, “Not that I don’t like your dancing, but I would love to know if you can converse as well as you dance, why, I don’t even know your name.”

Robb smiled, “I was merely in awe of your beauty, even hidden by a mask it shines through.” 

A flush made its way up the stranger’s cheeks, visible even with the mask. It was a pretty blush. The whole man was pretty if Robb was being honest. 

They twirled around once more, and then Robb’s foot went out from underneath him, so focused was he on the laughing green eyes before him. He stumbled, but did not fall, for a pair of surprisingly strong arms wrapped around him.

For a long beat Robb stood there, cradled in the stranger’s arms, and then the strangest urge overtook him. He leaned up and pressed his lips against the stranger’s, he kissed a man who he had known for only the length of once dance and yet who he felt a strange tug to. 

The press of soft lips against his own was so sweet that for a moment he lost himself in the sensation, until, that is, a scent caught his sensitive nose. The unmistakable scent of salt and sea and iron that only made up one species. 

But where could it come from… unless…

He looked at the stranger, the man with eyes of sea green and the scent of sirens and he realised why he seemed so familiar.

“It’s you.” He whispered, his eyes wide and he knew they flashed silver, “You’re the one who saved me.”

Panic filled the stranger’s, the  _ Greyjoy’s, _ eyes.

“I-,” He let go of Robb, “I- I have to go. I’m sorry.”

Robb could only watch, helpless as the siren dashed away. He could not grab him, that would be unwanted and unkind. The Greyjoy’s teasing remark about not knowing his head flashed through his mind.

“I’m Robb!” He called, but he had no indication that the Greyjoy had even heard him.

* * *

Theon was a little ashamed to have run from the ball, to have fun from the werewolf. But he could not have stayed, not when that kiss had felt so right. Not when he knew that if his family found out he had kissed or danced with a Stark he would become shark food before he could even blink. 

He barely looked where he was going, too intent was he to leave the werewolf, to leave Robb behind. (He could not help but hear the wolf’s name as he ran, could not help the way it sent a shiver down his spine.)

It was a mistake to not look where he was going, for it was not long before he crashed into someone and fell to the floor.

“My ap-“ He started to apologise, before he saw who exactly it was he crashed into. “Uncle Euron?”

Euron looked down at him, his blue lips stretched into a vicious grin and his lone eye containing a dangerous glint.

“Little Theon,” Euron purred, “Fancy seeing you here. I thought you’d still be swanning around that ballroom in your whorish silks.” 

“And here I thought you weren’t attending this ball.” Theon shot back before he could help himself, offended at the insult to his clothes, “It’s rude, you know, to not greet your hosts.”

Euron’s smile turned a shade more dangerous, “Who said I was here for the party? The Tyrells aren’t just known for their balls now, are they? This castle holds something a lot more valuable than gold or wine.” 

His words sent a shiver down Theon’s spine. Whatever his uncle was there for was surely not good for anyone, not even the family he professed to care for. 

“If you say so.” He said, with a careless air to hide his fear, “Oh, and Varys was looking for you earlier. He was rather disappointed that you weren’t attending. What business could you possibly have with the Spider, uncle?” 

Euron held a hand out and hauled Theon to his feet, pulling him into Euron’s body in a parody of a caring embrace. “That’s for me to know and you to find out, little Theon. Now run along before you get caught up in something you shouldn’t, your mother and sister would be  _ most _ disappointed to hear of you making a fool of yourself.”

He pushed Theon away, down the corridor and Theon could not help but totter obediently away, years of listening and obeying his uncles ingrained in him. He glanced back once, to see Euron staring after him with a thoughtful expression. 

It was an expression nothing good could ever come from. 

Not that anything good ever really came from Euron anyway; just plots and plans and murder as Theon’s mother liked to sigh whenever he was mentioned. 

But what could Euron want in Highgarden? What was he there for if not for the wine and debauchery of a ball? It was not the gold, for he had already admitted that, the only other thing the Tyrells were really known for were their portals. 

The portals. 

The portals which gave the ability to travel anywhere in Westeros or Essos almost instantaneously. A boon indeed for anyone who wished to take power as Euron did.

And yet, only the Tyrells could make portals, and in the current family only four had the ability. The Lady Olenna, Lord Mace, Lord Willas, and Lady Margaery; if Euron wanted portals he would need one of them to make them for him. 

It was with mounting horror that Theon realised what Euron’s plans were, for surely his uncle would rather steal the pretty Margaery over anyone else, for he would think her easier to bend to his will due to her age as well as finding other, more perverse, uses for her on his voyages. 

Theon couldn’t let that happen; not only just because he actually  _ liked _ Margaery, but also because he wouldn’t ever wish Euron upon anyone, not even his worst enemy. 

But who could he ask for help? His sister was an option, but she would likely use Margaery for her own gains (not that Margaery wouldn’t like Yara’s attentions if past encounters were any indication) and Theon didn’t want them to use trickery to defeat the Starks. It just didn’t seem fair.

(Not to mention that something in his chest twinged at the thought of continuing to fight against Robb, when that kiss had felt so  _ right _ .)

Surely the werewolf would help? It was his people after all who would be most hurt by Euron as he would likely attack Winterfell first. Surely prejudice against sirens wouldn’t stand against Theon trying to help him.

It was worth a try, Theon supposed, the worst that Robb Stark could do would be turn him away with a laugh. Or kill him on the spot - but he doubted that the werewolf would do that. 

He doubled back to the ballroom, it was unlikely that the Starks had left, even after Theon had run out on Robb. He knew that the Stark girl was friends with Lady Margaery, and if she was anything like Yara he doubted that she would let her brother leave early just because he’d been slightly embarrassed. 

And he was right. Robb stood to one side, leaning against the wall with an unhappy twist to his lips. A bolt of guilt filled Theon’s stomach at the sight, he had not wished to hurt Robb, and to see him so sad looked wrong. Robb Stark’s face was made for smiling, not for sadness.

Theon approached him gingerly, “I- I’m sorry.” He said softly, “I was surprised and I know that’s no excuse, but- but I need your help.” 

Robb seemed to puff up for a moment as he looked at Theon, but then he let out a sigh and deflated. 

“Sure. Not here though.” He pushes away from the wall and started to stalk away, a confidence to his steps that had Theon hurrying to keep up. 

He was a little hurt by how Stark didn’t even look at him, but at the same time he couldn’t blame him. 

It was a small antechamber that Robb led him to, one that was just as elaborate as any other room in Highgarden despite its small size. 

“What do you need my help with then, Greyjoy?” Robb Stark asked in a weary tone.

“My Uncle Euron is planning something. Something terrible. He wants to steal the ability to portal.”

Stark shrugged, “And why should that affect me? He is  _ your  _ family, not mine. And I’m sure you could get in trouble for telling me, your enemy, your family’s plans. I’m sure whatever he does with the portals will aid your family, no matter what I do.”

Theon should have expected that apathy, Robb surely thought he was taunting him with Euron’s plans instead of beseeching him for help. 

“My uncle is mad, completely and utterly mad, but ruthless in his madness.” Theon’s voice was soft but pointed, “If he gains the ability to portal anywhere he will be unstoppable. That is nothing anyone, including my family, wants.”

He could see that Robb did not quite understand; that the terror of Euron Greyjoy had not yet reached the North.

“Look,” He said patiently, “Whole villages put themselves to the sword when they hear he is aiming for them, he removes the tongues of all those who serve him, and he has wizards from all over the world enslaved so that their magic might aid his fights - including one who is specialised in removing wards. He is ruthless and brutal and if he is able to enter any keep in Westeros then he will be unstoppable.”

Robb’s face paled. Theon’s words finally getting the reaction he had hoped for.

“Fuck.” Robb cursed, “Fucking shitstained manticore horns. If he can get inside Winterfell then the whole North will fall. And if he takes Lady Margaery, as I am assuming he will for she appears the least dangerous, then who knows what he will do to her?”

A spark of jealousy lit in Theon’s heart at those words, why should he care if Robb cared for the pretty Tyrell? He had no claim upon the wolf, in fact, his own family would likely disown him if he did. 

“We need to warn the Tyrells.” Theon said, instead of giving voice to his strange jealousy, “If they can keep Euron from taking one of their own then we might have a chance to stop him.”

Robb set his shoulders and a hint of fear touched his features.

“We’re going to need Sansa for that, she’s the one the Tyrells are most likely to listen to.”

If Theon did not know Yara then he likely would have made some comment about the fear in Robb’s eyes, but he did know Yara. He completely understood, it could be dangerous sometimes to ask a favour from a sister.

* * *

They couldn’t approach Sansa at the ball, not when she was always so popular there her absence was sure to be missed. They had to wait until Robb had returned to Winterfell, with Theon hiding in Robb’s rooms after having been shepherded through the portal by a giggling servant. 

“Well, well, well, I knew you would come crawling to me.” Sansa turned to face Robb with a decidedly evil smile as she stood in his doorway, summoned from her own chambers. “Do you need help smuggling your latest conquest out? Because really, Arya is the one you should talk to about that.” 

He did not blame Greyjoy for flinching, Sansa had a way of making you believe she knew all your secrets. A way of making you believe that she could take over the whole of Westeros if she simply put her mind to it. It  _ was  _ scary, and Robb was willing to admit that.

“We need your help.” Robb admitted, “Margaery’s in danger.”

Sansa straightened and all joviality vanished from her bearing, “What? Who from?”

“My uncle.” Greyjoy stepped forwards, “He wants to be able to use the portals. He’s power hungry, always has been. He’s terrifying enough now, but with the power to travel anywhere he would be unstoppable.”

“And you think he’s going to steal Margaery to achieve this?” Sansa sounded dubious, and to be fair it did seem preposterous, especially when Highgarden was known for being one of the best defended castles in all of Westeros, and the Tyrells for never forgetting an insult.

“We do.” Robb clasped his sister’s hand in between his own, “Greyjoy is known for his love of collecting pretty things to break, and there are few prettier than Lady Margaery.”

“That is true.” Sansa’s lips twisted into a wry smile, “Margaery is  _ very  _ pretty.”

Robb wanted to blank that insinuation out of his brain entirely. Sansa had never so much as held hands with anyone, of this he had to be certain for his own sanity. 

“Will you help us?” He asked instead, “Will you help Lady Margaery?”

Sansa sighed and acted like it was a great concession but did agree to aid them. There was the chance she would extract some price from Robb in the future for this help, but it was a price that Robb was willing to pay.

His sister gathered her cloak and a small bag and impatiently gestured for them to step aside so she could reach the door.

“There should be a portal in the next few minutes, one that Margaery set up so we could-“ She glanced at Robb and very obviously amended what she was going to say, “So we could have tea and cake and discuss the ball.”

Robb would be quite happy to never know what his little sister was going to say there, especially as he was very sure it was the sort of thing which would make him want to scrub his brain with carbolic soap. 

Sansa led them through the corridors with a sort of ease that told Robb this was a regular occurrence, especially when she seemed to know exactly when the guards changed posts or which ones would be asleep as they crept past. It was the sort of information that would be invaluable to Theon if he decided to forgo their tentative alliance, and yet Robb was not concerned. It had taken Theon a lot of courage to come to them for aid and he did not think that Theon was the type to throw their aid back in their faces. 

The portal room was forever lit by the blue ward runes inscribed upon its walls, ones which had to have a drop of Stark blood smeared upon them to allow a portal to appear. It was a drop that Sansa gave with barely a shudder, the needle thin blade she kept for exactly that purpose darting in and out of her pocket swiftly.

No sooner was the blood on the stones then a portal appeared, a tunnel of gold and green light, one that seemed to waver before them. 

It was unusual that portals wavered, it meant that the caster’s concentration had wavered as well. And a wavering concentration only occurred when something truly distracting was occurring to the caster. 

They all exchanged glances, it was highly likely that the thing they were trying to prevent was already happening. They ran through the portal, praying desperately that they might be in time to prevent Euron from capturing a disarmed Margaery.

The portal swirled and juddered around them in a haze of green and gold, for a few very dizzying seconds, and then their feet touched the solid marble of the floor. As their eyes adjusted to the change in light so a horrific sight appeared before them, one which Robb had to grab hold of Sansa to keep her from rushing at.

His sister shook him off and shifted, uncaring as the gown she wore shredded into pieces. Her hackles were raised and a growl escaped her throat, and Robb could not blame her, it was only the sudden way that Theon had paled that kept him from doing the same.

A man with blue lips and an eye patch was holding Lady Margaery by the hair, her head tipped back so that he could press a silver blade to her throat. 

“Little Theon,” The man who must have been Euron Greyjoy crooned, “Did you bring me some wolves to add to my collection? How thoughtful of you!”

Theon trembled and stepped forwards, “Let Margaery go, uncle.”

The blade pressed deeper until a trickle of dark green blood beaded it’s surface, “No, I don’t think I will.” Euron said, “And if these mutts aren’t for me, then it means you have betrayed your own blood, Little Theon.”

“I suppose it does.” Theon tipped his head upwards with a calm confidence, “Give up now, uncle, we outnumber you and have no escape.”

Euron let out a cackle, and Lady Margaery’s eyes locked onto Sansa with a sort of desperation.

“Make a portal, sweet Tyrell, or watch as I turn your wolf pet into a new cape.” Euron crooned into her ear, “Take us to the coast or my knife might slip and take off one of your pretty ears.”

Margaery’s hands twisted into a series of complicated shapes, until a portal started to spark between them.

“Don’t follow me, my darling,” She called out tearfully, “Please don’t follow. I do not think I could bear it if you were to be hurt for my sake.”

“Shut up.” Euron snarled, as he started to drag her towards the portal, “You are a traitor Theon, a traitor that will never again be welcome below the sea. I name you traitor and coward and kinless.”

Robb watched, transfixed on his sister, as Margaery was yanked through the portal by Euron. He reached out to grab Sansa as she too leapt at the portal, but she was too slow. She fell to the floor with a clatter as the portal closed before her and let out a haunting howl of sorrow.

He wanted to run to her and comfort her, but a cold, trembling hand slotted into his, a desperate plea for comfort. 

And Robb could do nothing more than give the comfort to Theon, he could only imagine how hurt he must be, to have been abandoned so by his own family for trying to do the right thing. 

“We’ll get her back,” He promised quietly, “This pain won’t be in vain.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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